Six point Three
by Negare
Summary: Six Autobots, three points each. Witnessing the human response to a natural disaster.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's NB**: I never really liked the idea of writing Transformers into an actual disaster; I always considered it cheesy and a tad offensive - but I thought I could do it tactfully and this idea kept bugging me.

On 22nd Feb, 2011 at 1251hr a 6.3 quake struck Christchurch, New Zealand. It was more devastating in terms of damage and sadly, loss of life than the quake on 4th Sept. last year.

Its been a few weeks since it hit, now, and names and faces of those who have died and are still missing [probably dead] are all over our media. Its quite tragic. I personally know at least three people who are gone. As a nurse I just happen to be in the middle of it given the speciality I work, so I've heard stories and seen injuries that are going to haunt me.

I hope this serves to provide, if anything, a moment where people outside this small country can consider us and those in the most dire of circumstances in their prayers, and by extension consider others around the world who through natural disaster have lost family, friends and livelihoods. They think the death toll here will reach 220, whereas in Haiti at least 90,000 lost their lives.

Also, thanks to the various countries around the world who are assisting - Australia, America, Britain, Singapore, Japan and probably many others, it really is immensely appreciated.

ooOOoo

**Hoist**

I don't think its important to recall, or even to determine the time when I heard of the disaster. I was watching _When the Kitchen Sinks, _a completely asinine piece of garbage, I assure you, but something to pass the time – and I know my good friend Grapple enjoys it. Who am I to deny him the ability to watch unmolested by those holding a low opinion of Earth culture?

It was a breaking news bulletin. Like the time, I don't place too much clout on the particular news show that interrupted the extravagantly scripted slag. A human female informed, quite calmly, that there were reports coming in of a building dropping earthquake in the small island nation of New Zealand, a country I myself have never been too. In fact, I don't think many Autobots had actually visited before this. Details presently were scarce.

We grumbled over the irritation that an earthquake in an earthquake part of the planet caused to our daily routine. There had been one the year prior and despite its magnitude and damage no human life was lost, of course there had been mentioned of injuries.

Beachcomber entered at that stage, in his casual laid back sort of way. He asked for the use of Teletran much to our protests, his senses more keenly tuned to the ways of geography and instruments he had meticulously placed around the globe had picked up the quake. We shooed him away. Before he could leave the control room another bulletin interrupted, this time with the unwelcome news that humans had died, no word on numbers at that time – not even Grapple could argue with Beachcomber's desire at that point.

Things moved swiftly at that time. Optimus was soon there, watching intently the incoming images of devastation, his arms crossed over his chest, his optics locked. He turned to Hot Spot and gave the order.

From there it was all go, as the humans say, even we have a similar saying in our lexicon. I don't think there's a species that doesn't. Skyfire was boarded quickly by a first response team.

ooOOoo

On arrival to the shores of New Zealand we were greeted by an official. Their accent something completely foreign to us, Jazz was in his element. The man told us, with that potentially irritating inflection that several buildings had collapsed, that he'd received a briefing on our ability in regards and that we had been assigned in small groups to these sites. The medical bots, Ratchet and First Aid at this point, would be placed at two locations, Ratchet in the field somewhere and First Aid to the local hospital. I knew Ratchet was up to date with human anatomy and function given the many, _many _shenanigans Spike had gotten into, but I wasn't so sure about First Aid, but he wouldn't be here if he didn't know, I suppose.

There were several Autobots assigned to security and maintaining cordons until the human militaries that had offered support would arrive.

The official, a male, was an interesting fellow, there was something about the way he spoke to us, like we were equals. So many of the humans would speak to us like we were mindless machines without thought or feeling outside of some original programming created by some equally mindless and thoughtless computer. They'd stare up at us with a mixture of disgust and sometimes awe… which for all intents and purposes was usually bred from some fear. But this chap? He spoke to us like were some long lost friends, like we were just some more people showing up to help out. I could see the gratitude in his eyes, the humility.

I suppose that's the first point. Gratitude.

It always caused a grumble through the ranks followed up with a lecture, of sorts, from Optimus, when we risked our linkage to go into battle with the Decepticons to save some human factory or fuel processing plant or city or forest or whatever, what did we get in return? Some nasty comments about being soulless, about how we can't be trusted and a decent string of profanities. I think it's only been twice since we became knowledge to the humans that we've been thanked.

But here was this man, early 50s perhaps, tired despite it being early evening, a coffee stain on his collar, his sleeves rolled up, his shoes dirty with silt and pant legs sporting a few small rips, talking to us as equals, and then before we left for our assigned tasks:

"Thank you so much, I can't tell you how much this means to us right now. We really need help, and us here, we're all thankful that you came".

Prime smiled under that battle mask of his, for those who had come to know Prime over the years you learnt two things – that he didn't smile often, and when he did it was a site most people couldn't pick. We could see it now though. Prime responded kindly and then told us to follow out the man's instructions.

ooOOoo

Her name was Suzie, she was tall for a human female, had light brown skin – half Maori she told me; long black hair tied back in a scruffy "bun", I believe the term is. Identifying her clothing style from my data banks told me her pants were "scrubs" and her top was a singlet top. Black, with a small silver fern imprinted above the right breast. Over the top of that she wore a florescent yellow vest. She was one of the workers from this building, a fire warden – she was telling me the building's lay out. I already had access to the schematics but I wanted her to feel as if she was assisting – she seemed to need that.

She told me her story rather quickly – one thing I had noticed about these humans was they didn't "muck around"; Jazz had given us a database of their slang, and told us to expect a lot of it.

Suzie worked in a job that really didn't mean anything to me by way of explanation. It was a job. She liked it. She got paid for it. That's all that mattered really. She was nominated as a joke by one of her co-workers to be the "safety rep" for their small business located on one of the top floors of this now pancaked structure. She said she had never been a leader, and was always panicking over the smallest shake – she'd come down from the North Island, a place in this country more well known for Quakes, Wellington I believe; hence the reason she came to Christchurch, fewer quakes!

The woman was inside when the quake hit, one moment standing by her desk, on the phone to a friend of hers on another floor, discussing when they could get out to lunch. The rumbling started, each making a joke about 'not another one'. Suzie recounted to me that this one was different, she didn't know what it was about it, but when part of the ceiling caved in she realised it was time to take cover. Her eyes lost a little of their light as she informed me of the screams she heard as she cowered under her desk, the crashing of construction materials, the falling of furniture, at one point she was aware that she was falling, she clasped her hands around the legs of the desk and held on.

"At that point I must of blacked out".

She had said. She woke to find herself in a small air pocket, reaching up she pushed the top of her desk, it didn't budge, at least not under her arm's power; she rolled onto her back and in the cramped, dark space she braced her feet and pushed it off enough that she could see light. The woman clambered out and out her self three metres horizontally and one metre vertically from the footpath. Once across the road to safety she realised how lucky she had been. The only injury a small cut on her forehead which some medic had cared for. She couldn't recall where she got the vest or the scrub pants from – but she did know she had been wearing a skirt that day. A new skirt. Worth two hundred dollars. A treat to herself after all the stress the insurance company had put her through after the September quake the year prior.

Second point: getting your priorities straight.

I try to recall what I was like before the war, what I felt about life, my friends, family, what I felt about politics, what I felt about myself, my possession, what I put priority on, what I assigned value to. Of course, war changes that. What I valued before the war is not what I value now. And I'm ashamed to say that what I valued previous was petty and materialistic. I was selfish and self-absorbed, I only gave concern to my friends and family… and only then sometimes. Politics? Pfft. What a waste of time that was. I had heard of Megatron, his ideals, his goals, his methods, and I just didn't care, for me he was an abstract.

Suzie told me about her house.

It was a four bed room built on a "lifestyle block" in a rather posh part of town. It had an ensuite with marble floors. The kitchen was modern, with the latest in food preparation and storage technologies. There was an inside spa pool and an outside pool. A lovely garden that she paid someone to come and weed, she didn't want to get her hands dirty or damage her manicure. She told me about her expensive carpet and the sort of construction materials used to build her house. She told me the cost; she told me the prestige that came when people recognised her as the owner of such a magnificent structure.

She told me about the expensive Italian leather lounge suite, about her King size bed with Egyptian cotton sheets and 100% wool underlie. The silk pillows with duck feathers. She told me about the numerous art works that dotted those finely crafted walls. Then there was the expensive Mercedes parked in the shed.

Suzie, from what she told me of her house, was a woman of wealth and owned what so many humans placed great value on.

On the 4th September, that didn't matter.

The expensive stain proof carpet, the oak floors, the leather lazy boy, the expensive porcelain dinning set, the silverware, the Mercedes.

She had woken to the shaking, in her half asleep haze she was not entirely sure what was happening. Of course, that moment was fleeting. When a huge crack tore up her bedroom wall she realised she had no time to contemplate on her expensive bedding. She was up and out of that structure faster then the blood took to get from her heart to her toes.

Once outside she lost her balance, an aftershock knocked her down. She turned in time as she fell to see in the dim moonlight her house split down the middle, one side sinking at least a metre into the softening ground it had once stood n, the other side continued to crack and bend, submitting to the violence of nature until finally it caved in on itself.

Her entire life, from a possession point of view, was gone.

A fire started then, so whatever was left of her broken life was now burnt to a cinder.

Her neighbours were in the same situation, their homes broken and in tatters.

She had grieved for so much that day. And with the knowledge no one had actually been killed in that quake, it almost gave her a moral prerogative to grieve for lifeless things of wood and plastic.

Suzie then told me how she had to go live with one of her friends, closer to town, but in a somewhat more stable section. With only the nightdress on her back and a cheap necklace from her first love around her neck she moved into a part of town she had always considered a bit… drab. She spoke about how she was outraged over the mess of her house, over all her hard earned money basically sinking into the ground and then burning into ash, she told me how she had railed against the banks and the insurance companies over TVs and over drafts and credit ratings. All the while she had a warm bed to sleep in, food in her belly and friends to offer comfort.

Today, today was different. She told me her priorities had changed faster then the collapse of the building. Somewhere in that rubble was her friend. The friend who offered her a bed in a part of town she'd never be otherwise seen dead in.

That's why she couldn't leave. That's why she stood outside this devastated pile of concrete and steel, of glass and sorrow.

Her colleagues were still inside. She hadn't seen anyone else walk out under their own power since she had. A few dug out alive and carried quickly to medics and hospitals, but how their lives would venture from this point she didn't know.

She turned and began walking back to where she had been sitting, watching, she muttered in farewell:

"I don't care about my house; I just want my friend back".

ooOOoo

Humans aren't that different to us. We both have our sins, individual and collective; we both have our dreams and our desires for the future. What do I want? What I'd wager most humans want. A life partner, children, a home, a stable job, friends. We're not all that different.

We also hurt like humans. When we loose our friends, our families, our partners, our children, it hurts. A lot.

I try to stay upbeat, there's enough misery in this universe without adding to it. The war has taught me that much. People who gripe and moan and carry their pain so visually don't help others. There are exceptions, of course, Gear's bellyaching tends to come from a light hearted spark that so few know about, his complaining he seeks to amuse others with. I think deep down we all know this about the mini bot.

Point three: Hope.

Its what gets us through this mess with the Decepticons, the hope that one day that it'll be over, either through force or by them tiring of the same violence. The hope that one day we can go back to our lives, our friends and families safe from such horror, that we can focus on our careers and our culture and enjoy our homes secure in the knowledge that fire raining down from the sky won't reduce them to slag.

I look around this devastation and I see not a lot of room for hope. Some amongst my number would scan angles, materials, forces involved, the fires burning under those broken, heavy slabs of concrete and say there's no way a human could survive that. There can't be any hope, they'd say. Time to accept it, don't fall into the trap of denial.

But these humans, these men and women I see, clambering over the rubble, calling to each other, to those under the rubble, trying desperately to find someone, anyone, in any condition, as long as they're alive. Where there is life there is hope I hear one of them say, another looks at me and says "there is always hope", but I wonder about the conviction in his eyes. He's a member of one of the urban search and rescue teams, his accent tells me he's from America, but he could have been a local, humans don't seem to be entirely bothered by uprooting their lives and settling down somewhere foreign.

I like that about them. Their curiosity.

Its what's pushing them here.

And that hope.

My role in all of this? Well, I'm a medic first and foremost, not as high up the food chain in either rank or knowledge base as say someone like Ratchet, my knowledge of human anatomy is rather lacking comparatively, I'm here more for assistance with search and rescue. Despite my size I am delicate footed in such environments. I can move with ease seldom seen in mechs, my role here is to help the humans, they tell me where to dig, what piece of masonry they need moved and I facilitate that.

I had been working on a section close to the road, where part of the wall had crumpled bringing down several stories into this spot. I can't quite see any human life sustaining itself under this segment, the fires burn fiercely beneath which is why Inferno and I have been assigned here. We're not as susceptible to flame as the humans. I was part way through lifting a large section of a twisted steel beam, Inferno spraying a foam that will extinguish what smoulders when a tiny human voice cries out over the eerie landscape.

"I'VE FOUND SOMEONE!"

I look up, for a moment unsure if they mean alive or otherwise, the other humans working around me, those waiting on the footpath, Suzie across the street, they all look up, thinking what I am, did we hear correctly?

I find myself called, I tread delicately over this mess until I reach one of the search and rescue teams, now four men standing over a section of concrete and metal, a sniffer dog scratching and barking. A good dog indeed if he is correct. I hear it, I hear what the dog heard, I smell what the dog smelt, a small scratch, a whiff of blood, of sweat.

I lift the obstruction and there within a small hole, created by a metal filing cabinet and a solid desk sits a small human male, I'm unsure of his age, or perhaps fear, or maybe the shock of survival in such a place has humbled him to the point of some such cowering.

I can't help at this point, the medics step up, they assist this man, I watch as he is carefully strapped into a stretcher, spoken to, comforted, taken to the best care those doctors and nurses waiting can muster.

In the eyes of the humans around me, I see it, that glimmer, ever so small, they hold onto it, because really, they know that young man will be a miracle, one of a very slight few.

We find no more living that day.

Suzie remains at her vantage point, her vest still hanging from her frail form. She smiles at me. I apologise that we haven't found her friend.

"You found someone's friend".

She replied, selfless of her, really.

There's a slight smile on those dry and cracked lips, a glimmer of something in those dulling eyes.

Even if her friend is never found, she found hope in a stranger.

We all did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hot Spot**

I had the shift off, but of course, the Decepticon war machine never recharges, therefore I can't either. I was reviewing some emergency contingency plans for a human man, a fire chief who's a good mate. He wanted to know what was the best way to plan for Decepticon attack from a civilian emergency response position. How best to structure evacuation plans.

A bleep interrupted my thoughts on the chapter of shockwave generation and the effects on moving humans within the vicinity of such; it was Groove. He was on monitor duty there had been a natural disaster in the island nation of New Zealand – nice place I've heard. Optimus Prime was of the opinion that we shouldn't get involved in human political problems and wars, but natural disasters and the occasional terrorist shenanigans were right for our assistance – it was the neighbourly thing to do. I know a lot of Autobots thought it was a PR campaign to make ourselves more likable to the humans, and they're certainly free to hold that view, but thankfully they're not the ones in command nor any who carry any real weight in regards to their opinions.

Frankly, I don't care much for politics; I concern myself with safety and helping those who need it; and of course, the messy business of war. I received Prime's order and instruction to report for departure just as I was sending my own orders over the comm. to my fellows.

ooOOoo

The humans have a saying; I forget where I heard it, "sic vis pacem, para bellum". If you want peace, prepare for war would be the English translation.

Point one: Plan ahead.

There's always those first harrowing moments after an event has unfolded, natural or unnatural. Those moments where people are shocked, frightened, concerned, unsure, and a whole host of other emotions I'd be here till next Sunday describing. But once those moments have passed, the initial surprise has worn off, that's when the effectiveness of peacetime plans becomes apparent.

I made my way through the devastated streets, being lead by a man named Derek. Short, stout, over weight and rather unassuming when you first met him. He didn't exactly have that look that filled you with confidence, that was until he opened his mouth and spoke. Even though the males of the species had a deeper pitch to their voice, his was somewhat deeper than the average, it was reassuring. Even more so was how he seemed to know every plan for such a situation.

Just as I don't bother with politics I don't bother with titles, he worked for the civil defence, and that was enough for me. As soon as we disembarked we met Derek.

He looked us up and down for a moment, his eyes giving away nothing as to what he was thinking about us, positive or negative it didn't really matter. He opened his mouth:

"Right, thanks for coming: you're the guy in charge, right, Hot Spot?"

I replied in the affirmative.

"Fire truck right?"

Again an affirmative.

"Good, you follow me. The rest of you, see him".

He pointed to a slightly younger man, who's glasses were heavy with dust, amazed he could still through them.

Derek got into a 4WD and headed off into the city, a pillar of smoke was rising above the damaged cityscape.

I've been in war a long time; I've been in search and rescue a long time. Before the war that's what I did. Urban search and rescue. Sure, our reach was limited to the city state we resided in, and the worst of situations we'd been in was a building collapse due to shoddy construction processes, but it was an industrial complex, only three levels high and no fatalities. It took war to show me a whole different level of destruction, and it took stints on organic worlds to see natural disasters.

One would say this place, Christchurch, looked like a war zone, and perhaps to the innocent it did. But war showed signs of bombs, of shelling, of burnt out structures, there wasn't really too much of that. Just collapsed buildings. That didn't diminish its reach by any stretch of the imagination. Entire buildings had fallen, walls lay strewn across road ways, a bus, I saw several in my time here, were crushed. Blood smeared around the warped metal. Bodies still within. And there were people under the fractured masonry; I passed by what had been a busy café - busy from what Derek had told me. A small human hand reached out from under a rather heavy looking pile. Rescuers worked diligently on another mound near the female's hand. They knew. They knew like I knew. The owner of that hand was gone. Dead. And their efforts now had to focus on the living. The dead would be recovered later.

Autobot technology allowed us a quicker flight to this location; it was early evening on the day of the quake, about 1730hrs when I arrived at the collapsed building that was burning beneath its layers of rubble. The fear was a spread of fire, a car yard near by would be a nightmare to manage if it caught. I got to work.

Derek wouldn't say anything else to me until the fire was out the next day, it was pretty obvious he realised I was a fire truck so I probably didn't need to much instruction as to what reason I was there for.

Helicopters with monsoon buckets provided to be a great asset, the city itself near large bodies of water so it didn't take long for them to make flights back and forward. The rescue work was at times impeded upon by the flames that'd flicker up between the remains of this once proud structure. Derek did tell me though that he thought it was an ugly building, one that filled him with concern as he'd heard stories about the way it moved in aftershocks from staff.

Guess those stories were now a cold reality. I felt a moment of pity for all who had said this building was safe; that's not a guilt I'd like to live with.

There were already cordons up around the streets leading towards this site, army personnel and police already stationed there, giving assistance both in direction around and to other locations of interest to those who came up to them.

A small park near to our location was already teaming with doctors and nurses, tents were already erected, a generation giving power to lighting and other necessary resources. They were organised. It was impressive.

With Inferno's assistance it didn't take long for the fire to come under control. At this point in time I was directed by Derek to go out into the suburbs near by – there were some houses on fire.

Within under an hour the fire we were sent to was well and truly out, the neighbours of these buildings still standing there, watching, looked impressed. I was unsure if it was from the intensity of the fire, the fact we contained it, or if it was me.

Derek arrived in his dirty, smoke stained 4WD. He got out, gave me some instruction for another job. I was happy to help. Nothing worse than standing around doing nothing. Must have been worse for the humans who had nothing to do.

Driving to our next target gave us time for quiet reflection. The suburbs we passed through, the damage to the houses, to the buildings, it was quite unusual, especially in how it struck, and what structure decided to fall. There were homes that looked as if they could have stood against another 7.1 but had fallen into the dirt, whereas one home we passed, that looked as if a stiff breeze would topple it, stood tall, defiant, a green sticker on its window. It was okay for full use by its occupants.

And it wasn't just the buildings the planet had decided to alter, the very roads we drove over were warped and deformed, in some places you'd have a hard time believing there had ever been a road. Dirt and silt had pushed up against the asphalt that tried to subdue it, liquefaction in almost every street we drove upon. Massive piles of it already being gathered. Humans working under the dim evening sky, shovelling it to the sides.

"You know",

Derek stated over his radio.

"I was reading the emergency plans a few weeks ago, having a look over them, and I thought to myself, what a load of _crap, _who rights this shit?"

He laughed, but it was a subdued kind of chuckle.

"But now look at it, its coming together nicely. As nicely as it can do under the circumstances, I suppose".

We pulled up to a school; there were humans in vast numbers milling about. A BBQ [Jazz told me the name of it later] was up and running, the humans stood around various safe heating devices, wrapped in blankets, water containers near them filled, cups of tea and coffee being handed out.

My job here was to help pull tankers of water to residential areas that had difficult access. Derek smiled at me and said, with a hint of cheekiness, "you can go on two feet or on wheels, your choice, mate".

I met quite a few humans during this task.

Jack was a 24 year old student, he was in his last year of law at the local university, he was of average height, but probably a bit underweight for his frame. He sported a head of sandy blond hair, but it was filthy now. His little abode was red stickered. He'd been at home when it struck, studying for a test he had. He made for the security of the table when it hit. An old oak desk his grandfather had owned and had left to him as a hint to study a little harder. Jack watched from under his shelter as the floor of his living area fell away and a small volcano of dirt and silt spewed upwards, covering the entire lower level of his house. The upstairs partially collapsed outwards and landed on the neighbour's garage and car. Thankfully they were not home.

When the shaking stopped, Jack told me he took a few moments to compose himself before making towards his back door, taking particular care around areas of broken glass.

"I've been wearing shoes inside since the September quake".

He informed me proudly.

He grabbed his little box of supplies and made it into the back yard, where he resided now in a tent he and his flatmates had got together. A small gas burner sat propped up between some bricks taken from their collapsed car port, boiling the water in a kettle for another cup of coffee.

"Always thought it was stupid to have a kit like this, and then there's the question of where to keep it? The roof could cave in on it. So after the September one I got two, one by the back door and one in the shed".

Jack rubbed his hands together and smiled at me. I could see he was rather excited to meet an Autobot. I could only smile back at his enthusiasm.

Such plans would definitely come in handy for Jack and his flatmates over the coming weeks.

From Jack's canvas abode I travelled down the dirt covered street, a young woman flagged me down from the side of the road.

"Can I help you miss?"

I had asked.

"Hey, look, I know you're an Autobot and all".

News travelled fast, despite the collapse in electricity and communication network overloads.

"I'm happy to assist in anyway, miss, Autobot or not".

"Well, I live just over there, and our car port came down, dodgy building before the quake, haha, built without consent by the previous tenants…. Anyway, my neighbour in the unit next to me took off but they had left a gas heater under the car port and we're a bit to nervous about going in to check if there's gas bottle in it; heck, we don't even know if it's a risk".

I transformed, she looked up at me, made a comment about how I was shiny. Good sense of humour I could see in this one.

I came down the driveway of this block of units, three other humans who were sitting casually on the front steps of the first unit, drinking coffee under their green stickered status, got up and accompanied me.

The eldest male, a Scottish man, told me about the young idiots that they had been living next door too and a string of profanities followed suit.

"So, what do you think?"

"Gas bottles of this make are rather sturdy and it'd take a lot more than a tin roof and a few cinder blocks to cause a rupture, but I'll dispose of it for you".

"Seems like the thing to do".

She replied.

I reached in casually and removed the gas heater, bottle and all. A quick scan revealed that it wasn't in the best of condition.

"The morons living there just took off, even left the mains on; we can't get into the property without breaking something".

The Scottish man added.

I got the door of the empty unit open for them, and the Scottish man entered. When he came out he looked rather unsettled.

"Problem?"

I asked.

"No, not unless you count two kilos of mince on the bench".

"So they just took off?"

I inquired.

"Yip".

"And left their mains on? Meat products on the bench? Gas bottle under a collapsed building?"

"Yip".

"Guess not everyone is prepared".

"Nope".

ooOOoo

A human scientist, well known for his theories and probably the author of their modern way of thinking, Albert Einstein once said "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity – and I'm not sure about the former".

To say that stupidity was something only seen in the human race would be rather unfair. There are plenty of Autobots I've met who are, as Spike says, a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic. And having been on various alien worlds housing all manner of species, I can assure you, stupidity isn't confined to humanity.

Point two: Stupidity.

In times of disaster, natural or otherwise, you see all sorts of responses, some like Derek, where people are thoughtful, logical, task orientated, people like Jack, who are prepared as a civilian can be. You see honour, courage and bravery, you also see the negative. In the case of that neighbour and their gas bottle, stupidity, or at the very least thoughtlessness.

I passed various structures, destroyed and unstable where humans mingled close to it, some entering into it to retrieve items of value to them, sentimental, fiscal or business. I wouldn't class entry into such damaged buildings as stupidity, probably closer to ignorance and stress. But then you see a few things that make you sit up and nod, yip, that guy's a moron.

His name was Bob, but I'm as sure as Cybertron is made of metal, that that was not his real designation.

I met Bob in a rather frustrating, teeth grinding fashion, if I had teeth.

After five minutes of slow driving over roads that looked more like something you'd find in the Australian outback or deepest darkest driest Africa Bob came into my life. The road I was travelling was severely damaged, liquefaction had ripped up the roading, and in some parts, you would be hard pressed to believe there had even been a road there. The ground was uneven, unstable, and in possession of pot holes of various sizes.

I was aware of Bob travelling in excess of 70kilometres an hour behind me, at first I was of the mind that he had somewhere to be urgently, being a rescuer or a medic or someone who had justification for driving like that. He passed me, leaning out his window swearing at me, rather unpleasant I thought. I noticed a hand gesture that Jazz had once told me was not very polite.

The attention he gave me to "flip me off" was taken from the road. His car hit one of those pot holes and the front of it slammed rather violently into the edge of it, the front right wheel breaking free and bouncing up out of the hole and continuing along the road, missing by the narrowest of margins a human male on a scooter.

I stopped, transformed and approached. The man climbed out, Bob stood, swearing. Looked up at me and with a sneer:

"Look at my fucking car bro!"

"Yes, it seems rather… damaged".

I bend down, pick it up, and crush it into a small cube, before dropping it carefully on the side of the road.

"Enjoy your walk home, you idiot".

I transform and drive off.

I would learn Bob's name about three hours later when he attempted to climb over a cordon, in view of soldiers.

ooOOoo

I love city life. The noise, the activity, the people, whatever species. The only thing I agree with Tracks about is just how vibrant New York is. Always busy, never sleeping, always something happening, not always positive, but something. I find my homes in the larger population centres. Some yearn for the quiet life of smaller towns, suburbs and rural areas – as the humans class them; and while that's fine for them, its just not me. Even if the war finished tomorrow, I'd still have a home, and a job, a purpose, in a large city – and the larger the better.

New Zealand, well, it's a small country with comparatively small cities compared to other nations. Their biggest centre of population is only about 1.2 million, and actually spread out over a large area, and you really don't have to drive far to find yourself staring at cows and sheep… lots of sheep. Cute really.

The Decepticons aren't concerned with local population numbers when they attack, and for the most part, smaller towns that support power stations and other fuel depots are their preferred target. I've been in quite a few smaller towns and find them to still have that buzz, that noise. Even in the dead of night when they're occupants are tucked up in their beds, the towns still have noise.

Then there's nature, the rural zones, I've passed through many of them, been to a few good bush fires, and even in times where nothing is happening, something is always happening. One of Ratchet's favourite sayings in regards to the twins: "Nothing is always something".

And nothing always is. Even when the humans slumber, or the lights are off, there's always a cricket chirping, or an owl hooing, or a dog barking mindlessly at some ninja like cat.

But not now;

Point three: silence.

Its an eerie feeling. Even my servos are unnerved. The total lack of anything. Occasionally in the distance the silence is made even more obvious by the sound of search. A wall falling, a truck engine, the whirl of a helicopters blades – maybe Blades? Whatever it is, its something you have to experience for yourself to truly appreciate the complete and utter creepiness of it. Its when you hear those bangs, far off in the distance, heralding the reality of the situation, its in the quiet after you notice that the insects are gone, the birds too are silent. There are no dogs barking, despite having seen a few of them during the light hours.

I feel as though I'm violating this sanctuary, I stop on the side of a road for a moment, near a primary school. I kill my engines and listen with anticipation until they hum down. Then I listen.

There's nothing to hear, but that just makes you stretch all the more.

I wonder about the humans still living in those homes with the green stickers, the green stickers that offer up some sense of security – but I doubt they feel that way. The buildings that collapsed killing so many, they had green stickers from the last quake. I wonder about them sitting in their dark homes, surrounding a small candle, a torch, maybe a gas lamp, the fire fighter in me hopes they take precaution. I wonder if they sit, staring into those flickers of light, and are afraid to move, to talk, for fear of disturbing that silence. Does it even bother them? Or are they pleased to be free of the sounds of their homes and city collapsing around them, the twisting of metal, the sound of masonry tearing down through buses, the horrible cries and screams of their friends, family, work mates, and those who before the 22nd were utter strangers, but now find themselves with a new face in their life.

I wonder about every last one of them.

The humans have a saying, its an apt one in this situation.

Quiet as a tomb.

ooOOoo

**Author's NB**: A lot of buildings are being inspected, red stickers/piece of paper means absolutely no entry, building unsafe, yellow sticker for limited use, like you can go in there and get stuff but don't linger, and green for no problem for use, but maybe some cracks and stuff that needs to get checked out later.


End file.
